Pretty in Pink Isn't He?
by Justine Samulet Delarge
Summary: THIS IS THE COMPLETE SERIES, WITH THE BRAND-NEW CHAPTER 8 WRITTEN ON 9/16/12. Dean likes Sam in pretty pink panties. Sam loves it too. So much so that he decides to give Dean a big surprise. Wincest. Crossdressing. Please don't read if you dislike mature subject matter.
1. Chapter 1

Pretty In Pink (Isn't He?)

**Chapter 1**

"There you go. Spread your legs for me."

Sam blushed furiously.

"Sam."

"Ok. Ok…" and Sam eased his thighs open, revealing the pink satin panties Dean gave him earlier that day.

"See? What I tell you? Feels nice, huh."

"Yeah." Dean rubbed his fingers over Sam's cock through the satin. Sam moaned, and a dark flush of precum leaked through the fabric. Dean tongued it, and Sam's hips bucked upward.

"Gonna take care of you. Don't you worry." Dean slipped the panties to the side, exposing Sam's neatly shaven balls, drawing one into his mouth, then the other, holding Sam's thighs wide open with the palms of his hands.

"Fuck. Oh god. Oh god."

"Yeah, Sammy, you like that?

"Please…just, please."

"Please what?"

"Don't make me say it."

"Love to hear you say it. Not gonna if you don't say it. You know the rules."

Sam squirmed.

"…lick me."

Dean grinned up at Sam, green eyes glinting mischievously.

"Lick what, exactly? Want me to lick your cock through your pretty pink panties?"

Sam groaned, but that's not what he wanted.

"No. Want you to…"

"Come on, baby. Tell me what you need."

"To lick my…ass."

Dean dug his teeth into Sam's inner thigh.

"Uh-uh. That's not what we're calling it tonight, is it?"

"Dean."

"You want it, you gotta ask for it right. I'll do it. You know I want to. Can't wait. But I gotta hear you ask me right."

Sam blushed so hard, his face and chest turned bright red. He turned his head away, and whispered into the pillow, "Lick my pussy."

"Can't hear you, Sam."

"Fuck you."

"Not until you say it."

Dean placed one finger against Sam's jaw and with the lightest of pressure, tipped Sam's face back.

"Look at me."

Sam eyes fluttered, locked onto Dean's chest, then raised to meet his gaze.

"Give you everything you want. You just gotta say the words."

Sam swallowed hard. "Lick my pussy."

Dean groaned. "There you go. That's what I wanted to hear." Dean tugged the panties to the side, moved his tongue lower, ignoring his cock completely, pressing it lightly against Sam's perineum.

"Want me to eat you out like a girl, Sammy?"

Sam dug his fingers into the sheets and arched his back. "Please. Please."

Dean pulled Sam's legs closer, tugged the panties halfway down Sam's thighs, then pushed his legs back, pink satin stretched between them, Sam's ass exposed and accessible. He teased the tip of his tongue around the rim. "Say it again. So pretty when you say it."

Sam chewed his lower lip and looked Dean in the eye, his big brown eyes already gone dark from the pleasure high. "Lick my pussy. Please."

Dean plunged his face between Sam's thighs, eating him out like a starving man at a buffet. "Taste so good, Sam. Feel so fucking good." He swirled his tongue in circles, darted in to penetrate the first ring, curling up at the tip, making Sam gasp, then licked long and slow from the back all the way up to the base of his cock, pressing his thumb against the perineum the way that felt so good. He licked Sam good and messy, with lots of saliva to keep it slick. "Yeah, Sammy. All nice and wet. So good. Could do this for fucking days."

Sam tugged at the panties restricting his legs. "Off. Please. Off." Dean pulled them free and set them at his side, in arm's reach. Sam was then able to spread his legs wide, heels on the bed, and fuck up into Dean's tongue, gyrating against his face, hands holding the back of Dean's head.

"Tell me how much you love it or I'll stop."

Sam sobbed. "Please. Don't stop. Your tongue feels so good in my pussy. Love it when you eat me out. So wet for you."

Sam's cock was dripping with precum, all over his stomach. Sam pulled Dean's hand up so he could touch it.

"Fuck. Sam. Soaking wet." Dean brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked. Sam let out a helpless groan and grabbed the backs of his knees, spreading himself wide open.

"Don't stop, Dean. Fuck my wet little pussy with your tongue."

Dean held Sam's ass with both hands and rocked him up and down against his mouth, making him fuck himself against Dean's tongue. Sam cried out again and again, delirious with pleasure. Dean stabbed his tongue as deep inside Sam as he could, twisting it, opening him up.

"Dean. Dean. Gonna make me come."

Dean pressed his lips tight against Sam's ass and sucked rhythmically. Sam started to shudder. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Wanna come for you. Please. Dean. Let me come. Please."

"How do you want to come, Sammy?" Dean liked making Sammy talk dirty, liked making him say it. "With my tongue in your hot little asspussy? Or on my cock?"

"Your tongue. Please. Make me come with your tongue. God. Gonna come so fucking hard for you."

Dean flicked his tongue around and inside Sam's ass, scraping his tongue against him roughly, driving him hard now, listening to his gasps and cries. "Come on, Sammy. Come for me." He grabbed the pink panties at his side and wrapped them around the head of Sam's cock, sliding the slick fabric up and down lightly, just giving him a bit more sensation to tip him over the edge, driving his tongue as hard and deep inside Sam as he could.

Sam threw his head back and howled, shooting so hard that come spattered his chest and face, spasming beneath Dean.

Dean slid up and slid his cock inside Sam in one hard thrust. "Christ, Sam, look how sweet you took that." Sam's body didn't resist whatsoever, just drew Dean in deep, closing tight around him. "So fucking tight." Dean went deep and rolled his hips in a slow, grinding circle. Sam brought his legs all the way back and grabbed his ankles, tipping his ass up so Dean could take him as deep as he wanted. Dean drew back and plunged in to the base, and again, and harder. "Fuck, Sammy, Sam…" and with that, Dean was coming, his whole body convulsing uncontrollably, making rough, guttural cries.

After a moment, Dean pulled free and collapsed at Sam's side. When he'd recovered somewhat he brushed his lips against Sam's neck. "Was that good, Sammy? What you wanted?"

Sam buried his face in Dean's chest. "Yeah. God. So good."

"Fucking awesome, is what it was."

Sam smiled.

Dean pulled Sam closer. "Oh, and next time, Sammy? Next time you're wearing the skirt too."

**Chapter 2**

Sam was acting weird.

Ok, Sam usually acted weird, but this was different.

First off, he wouldn't let Dean shower with him. "Sometimes—just sometimes Dean?—a person needs a little privacy. Just to remember what it's like, ok?"

And he put on his clean clothes in the bathroom with the door shut.

And he turned down a perfectly good blow job when he came out.

"Dude. Something we gotta talk about?" Dean poured Sam a tiny cup of motel coffeemaker coffee, from the tiny motel coffeemaker. The cup looked like part of a doll set in Sam's massive hand.

"Nope. We're good." Sam's face was flushed, but his eyes met Dean's gaze without squirming away (Sam's tell for when he was upset about something).

Dean ran his hand along Sam's back and settled on the curve of his ass. "You'd tell me. If I pissed you off?"

Sam drank half the coffee in one gulp and grimaced. "Oh. You'd know. But you haven't. Promise."

Dean was usually the one who resisted cuddling and kisses and all of that bullshit, but when his insecurities flared—like now—he either got VERY demonstrative or he turned into a prick. Sam was very clear that he much preferred the first, so that's how he ran with it.

Dean nuzzled at Sam's chin like a dog trying to get some attention, and when Sam turned his face towards him, mouth twitching in a smile, Dean gently worried Sam's lower lip between his teeth, and then kissed him. A real Dean Winchester, "make 'em weak in the knees", phasers set to On Your Back Now kiss. With the little lip bite first looking at Sam's mouth, then getting lost in Sam's eyes, letting his lips touch Sam's oh so gently, the slow, sweet sweep of his tongue across the seam of Sam's mouth until Sam parted his lips for Dean, let him in, the hand at the back of the neck, the other hand on his face, thumb caressing his jawline, then pulling Sam's mouth open wider so Dean could slowly ease his tongue past Sam's teeth and possess his mouth…

He had Sam sucking on his tongue and moaning into his mouth in less than a minute.

"Ok. Ok. " Sam unzipped Dean's fly and sank to his knees. He took a swig of coffee in his mouth, held it there for a moment, then swallowed and sucked Dean's testicles into his mouth, one by one.

Dean gripped the edge of the table with both hands and swore, shuddering. Sam's mouth was wet and HOT and mother of all that's holy it felt good. "Fuck."

Sam sucked and lapped at Dean's balls, tugging on them with his lips gently, while Dean twitched.

Another mouthful of coffee, swirled in his mouth, and swallowed, and Sam sealed his mouth around the crown of Dean's cock and sucked the length of it into his mouth, slowly, inch by inch. Dean's bowlegs were wobbling by the time the tight seal of Sam's lips brushed against his balls, his big brown eyes staring up into his face, blown wide with admiration and lust and so much love it hurt to look at.

The molten, wet heat of Sam's mouth was too much, and Dean was spilling into Sam's mouth within what felt like seconds. Sam swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed. Never let a drop spill.

Sam sat back on his heels, grinning. "Feel better?"

Dean tucked himself back in his jeans. "You have no idea."

Sam got to his feet, finished the last of his coffee, and made a face. "That shit tastes nasty."

"Most people say that about come."

"Most people haven't tasted yours."

Dean's face crinkled with a smile better suited to learning he'd won the lottery, not had his little brother tell him how good his ejaculate tasted. But everybody has their own definition of awesome things to hear. "Christ I love you."

"Are those tears in your eyes?"

"Shut up."

"Are they?" Sam gripped Dean's face

"You're so annoying." Dean swatted Sam's hand away.

"Gee, your come tastes terrific!"

"Seriously, Sam. Gonna kick your ass."

"You can try. Oh, and wrong verb." Sam grabbed his jacket. "Gotta get to the library. I'll call you when I got what we need." One last slow kiss, and Sam was out the door.

Dean didn't get it what "wrong verb" meant until Sam was across the parking lot.

It took him an hour to come down from his high and realize that Sam hadn't gotten off.

Hadn't even tried.

**Chapter 3**

It took every ounce of Sam's self-control to stop himself from stripping his clothes off and begging Dean to take him hard. But he couldn't. He had to keep the surprise he had planned meticulously for that evening.

And the first part of the plan involved shaving his legs smooth.

He'd showered by himself (after he pushed Dean under the steamy spray and told him to enjoy the moment alone), where he carefully soaped up and gone through two razors gingerly shaving his armpits and his legs baby smooth, making sure to rinse all the hair down the drain. The water was cold by the time he was done, but he hadn't nicked himself except on the hard round bone on his ankle.

He changed into his clean clothes behind the locked door as well.

When he came out, he could tell Dean was worried, amping himself up, fearful that Sam was losing interest, had seen someone hotter, younger, different. Everybody has at least one wound that won't heal, and Dean's was that he felt he wasn't good enough. For anything.

Sam reassured him, but knew that words weren't going to be good enough. Dean needed to see and feel Sam's love in the flesh, in practice, in concrete action, not abstract thought.

But when Dean slipped next to Sam and cupped the front of his jeans, murmuring an offer to take care of his little brother, Sam had no choice but to grit his teeth and deflect.

If Dean so much as tugged Sam's jeans partway down, he would see Sam's sleek, hairless thighs, and there'd be no graceful way to explain it without spoiling all of Sam's plans.

But that kiss. Christ, that kiss. Nobody kissed like Dean Winchester. Nobody in the history of anybody. Sure, Dean was a natural hunter, and was trained to frightening efficiency in hand-to-hand combat. He could track a falcon on a cloudy day. He could outshoot, outdrink and outfight anybody. But the thing Dean did best of all was kiss.

Dean could—and did—make Sam come just from kissing. Not kissing plus dry-humping, kissing plus dirty talking, or kissing plus touching him. Just kissing, only their upper bodies touching, breaking contact to look into his eyes, touch his face, then that mouth (_that mouth that cocksucking mouth_) pressed onto his, exactly the right warmth, firmness, softness, the way he slipped his tongue across Sam's teeth, along the underside of his lips where the skin is the softest anywhere on the human body, licking up inside, teasing the roof of his mouth—and since when was that hot? But it was. Christ, was it ever.

So when Dean moved in for the kill (and Sam saw it in his eyes, saw what Dean was about to do, and knew he was fucked, was going to be fucked, and the secret would be ruined), Sam, in a word, despaired.

But somehow, he pulled out a save at the last minute. The coffee gave him the idea. The only flavor it possessed was bitterness. Its only saving grace was that it was hot.

So when Dean had rendered Sam practically incoherent with desire after less than a minute, Sam tried one last desperate measure: the hot liquid blowjob.

The only thing better than a blowjob from a mouth warmed by a hot beverage is one where the person doing the sucking alternates between sips of hot and ice-cold liquid. Sam made a note to drive Dean out of his fucking mind with that scenario another time.

But for the time being, he thought he could distract Dean with the hot part long enough to get out the door and get on with the rest of his preparations, which were extensive and would take him all day.

Sure enough, Dean fell to pieces, practically convulsing with pleasure at how Sam's normally unforgettable technique was taken over the top by how warm his mouth and tongue were. A couple of minutes and Dean was coming in Sam's mouth. And Sam loved it. Loved how Dean tasted. Other men Sam had sucked off tasted sharply bitter, deeply unpleasant, concentrated and mineral, like a decaying oyster. Dean tasted earthy, salty, but with a sweet, whiskey-tinged note. Sam loved it. Didn't dare tell Dean, because if he knew how much of a trembling and frantic thing Sam had for Dean's come there's no telling how much teasing he'd give him for it, but he would have gladly sucked his brother's cock every single morning for the rest of his life, swallowed every drop, and thanked god for it.

Apparently, Sam was as gifted at oral sex as Dean was at kissing, because he left Dean twitching and orgasm-stoned, and was able to make his escape without being found out.

Sam walked the three blocks to the library and went inside, just in case Dean was watching. After 15 minutes, he slipped out the back exit and made his way to the beauty salon.

He'd met Vicki running down some leads on a murdered drag queen that Sam and Dean had identified as the latest victim of a ghoul's nest. She was sweet and funny and a transwoman. It was clear she had an immediate crush on Sam, but she knew from the first second Sam and Dean walked in what existed between them.

Dean had left Sam to finish up the interview so he could return Bobby's phone call. After Sam had gotten the information he needed, Vicki tucked a lock of her blonde wig behind her ear and said to him, "You know, you've got gorgeous bone structure. You'd look so beautiful in drag." The series of expressions that flitted over Sam's face—shock, disbelief, a pure burst of pride, a heartbreaking flash of something hopeful and scared—told her everything he couldn't say.

And the hook was set.

When Dean was taking a nap in the afternoon, Sam snuck outside and called her. "Hey, what you said earlier? Could you…I… I'd like to…"

"Can I do you up? Sweetie, I'll do you male-to-female head to toe."

They talked for an hour. Sam spilled his guts to her about Dean (leaving out how they were brothers—and hunters), what they had been experimenting with, how it made Sam feel, how he wanted to go all the way with it and surprise Dean. They arranged for the plan to go down on Friday. Vicki gave Sam instructions on what to do over the two days before coming to see her as early on Friday as he could break free. Sam dutifully exfoliated his whole body as directed, and showered that morning with an antibacterial scrub.

When Sam walked inside the empty salon, Vicki flipped the Open sign to Closed and locked the door.

"Don't be scared. It's going to be fine."

Sam slumped on a swivel chair. "I'm freaking the fuck out."

"Don't even start."

"What if he—"

"He loves you. LOVES you. That comes off him in waves. Anybody can see it. Everybody."

"This… this is scary."

"He's the one that gave you the panties and high heels, Sam. He's the one that said next time, you're wearing the skirt too. He wants this as bad as you do, sweetie."

Sam pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Gonna look ridiculous. Tall as I am. Jesus, in heels I'm gonna be like 6'7." Sam stared at his hands.

Vicki took his hands in hers. "Sam. You're going to look like a goddamn Amazon princess. You'll be stunning. Trust me. I'm the best."

She led Sam over to a room in the back. "First things first, we're going to get started on the waxing."

Vicki donned a set of purple gloves. When Sam took off his shirt, she erupted in a fit of coughing. "Goddamn."

Sam grinned. It had been a long time since he'd been shirtless in anyone's company other than Dean, and he did like the attention. He lay back on the sheet-draped massage table and rubbed his stomach.

"Flirt."

"Yes, ma'am."

Vicki smoothed baby powder all over his chest and dusted him off. Next, she smeared warm wax on a small section of his chest with a wooden stick. She covered it with a strip of white muslin and pressed her fingers over it firmly several times to make it stick. "I'm just going to pull gently forward." She pulled the fabric off quickly, immediately pressing her gloved hand on the hairless patch to soothe the sting.

Sam registered no pain. Vicki's eyebrows shot up. "Well, ok then." She proceeded to wax his chest smooth. The only time Sam flinched was when she waxed the area around his nipples.

She made him take a break and drink some tea, and pick out some new CDs. Sam selected Pearl Jam and Jeff Buckley.

Vicki waxed Sam's hands, the backs of his knuckles, his arms, and the treasure trail down his stomach, dusting each section with baby powder beforehand and slathering it with baby oil afterwards.

"You don't really have any hair on your back. We could skip it if you want."

Sam said, "I want to do it right."

When she had finished waxing his back, he sat up, smoothing his fingers over his body. "This is so weird."

"You're deflecting. You know what comes next."

Sam's face reddened.

"You said you want to do it right, right?" Vicki stirred a pot of dark red wax. "You want to make that pretty little boyfriend of yours, what were your exact words, lose his fucking mind?"

Sam bit his lip. "Yeah."

"Well, sweet cheeks, there's no way around it. We're simply going to have to wax that sack and crack."

**Chapter 4**

Sam pressed his face down into the cool cotton sheet covering the waxing table, and tried to pretend he was somewhere else. Anywhere else than buck naked in a salon about to get a sack-and-crack wax.

"Ok, I'm going to get started now. Are you ready?"

Sam thought back to all the foes he and Dean had fought, for the world, for each other. Vampires, rugarus, ghosts, demons, the devil himself. But the scariest thing he had ever faced was a transwoman named Vicki with a jar of ass wax.

"Yep." Sam sold the false confidence like nobody else. But Vicki was no fool.

She knelt alongside him, and took his hand. "Hey. It's normal to be a little nervous. But I swear, it sounds way worse than it is. Trust me. I have it done all the time."

Sam looked hopeful. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Doing the hair around the nipples hurts worse."

Sam chewed on his lower lip. "Not the pain I'm worried about."

Vicki held his hand a little tighter. "It's a really intimate thing. I know."

Sam gave a shy little smile.

"I'm like you, you know." Vicki stood up and moved behind the table. "Total exhibitionist sometimes… but I'm also really shy."

Sam pushed himself up on his elbows and craned his neck to look behind him. "You really think I'm an exhibitionist?"

Vicki smacked Sam's bare ass. "Sweet cheeks, don't even try."

Sam lay back down. "Ok, here we go." When Vicki said, "Could you take your right hand and pull your butt cheeks apart for me?" Sam curled his head down and buried it in the sheet. "Oh god."

"Remember what you're doing this for."

Sam closed his eyes and thought of Dean.

He shivered as she laid a stripe of warm wax down the center. He gritted his teeth as she smoothed the cloth strip over it and yanked hard and…

"Huh."

"Told you. Sounds a lot worse than it is."

The searing pain he expected (and as a testimony to how much he loved Dean, the searing pain he fully expected to have to endure for this whole plan) simply didn't materialize. Sure, it was uncomfortable. Nobody would ever say that having the hair around one's anus waxed was delightful. But it wasn't that bad.

A few more strips and that area was clear. "Alright, Sam, I need you to turn over on your back. Ok, now bend your knees and hold your legs open for me." Sam turned bright red, on his back, hands on his thighs holding his legs open like he'd only ever done for Dean, so flush with desire for him that all inhibitions melted away. Not in a brightly lit beauty salon in the middle of a day with a sweet but unfamiliar person wielding a narrow wooden spatula dripping with wax.

"This part is going to be a little more intense." She smoothed the warm wax over Sam's perineum, and oh, what Sam feared would happen, did.

He should have expected it, really. He was an exhibitionist, in the right circumstances. He did love to be on display, to be desired and appreciated. And although Vicki was a consummate professional, it was clear to both of them that she was attracted to Sam. So there he was, spreading his legs for her so she could get to his taint and ball sack easily, completely exposed, and then the surprisingly erotic feeling of the warm, wet wax on that sensitive patch of flesh… his cock thickened immediately. Completely. Gloriously.

Vicki cleared her throat. "That's absolutely normal. A totally normal physiological reaction. In fact, if it didn't happen, you should worry."

Vicki smoothed the fabric strip along his skin. Her fingers trembled.

That made him even harder.

She tugged sharply, and ripped the cloth away, immediately smoothing her gloved hand over the skin to soothe the sting.

Sam cried out. But it didn't sound like a cry of pain. Because it wasn't. Not exactly.

They looked at each other for a moment without saying anything.

"Keep going." Sam got a tighter grip on the backs of his knees.

Vicki swallowed hard, and proceeded. A few more swathes of wax, and the perineum was clean. Each tug of the cloth made Sam's cock twitch and bob, pulling a grunt or choked cry out of Sam.

Sam thought he heard Vicki murmur, "Jesus Christ" under her breath.

"Keep going," Sam directed.

The first touch of the warm wax on his scrotum, and a clear drop of pre-cum welled up in the slit of Sam's cock. "Oh god." Sam didn't even know what to do with himself.

Thank god for Vicki.

"You must really love that man of yours. Doing all this for him."

"I do. I really fucking do," Sam choked out.

"You like doing things to please him, huh."

"You could say that."

"He's your Dom?"

Sam thought about it. "He's my everything."

Vicki pressed her gloved fingers against Sam's sack, holding the skin taut, and pulled the first strip off.

"Fuck!" Sam cried out, back arching involuntarily, his cock twitching violently, then hitting his belly with an audible slap.

"Does that… hurt too much?"

"No, it's not that. It's…" and Sam was unable to finish the sentence. His cock lay aching and desperate on his belly, and each jolt of pain, while Sam lay there spread open and watched, only made it worse.

"I bet your man would love to be here right now, watching me do this to you. For him."

Sam blinked at her, awash in gratitude. He couldn't believe it. She'd found a way out for him, a way to navigate this impossibly complex situation there on top of the waxing table, without compromising her integrity or breaking the solemn vow he and Dean had made to each other: only you. Only love each other, only sleep with each other, only come for each other.

"Yeah. He'd love it."

Vicki smeared more wax. "What would he tell you to do, Sam? If he were here watching you?"

Sam bit his lower lip. "Tell me to touch myself."

"Yeah?" Her voice shook almost imperceptibly. "I suppose you better, then."

She extended a container of lotion toward Sam, only meeting his gaze for a split second. Somehow, Sam felt like she didn't want to intrude on a moment between him and Dean. And Dean wasn't even there.

Sam pumped a squirt of lotion into his hand, and slicked his cock with it. He could not stop himself from moaning.

Vicki stretched the skin on his scrotum again and again, stroking warm wax on him, moving the applicator more slowly than before, pulling on the fabric strips with sharp jerks, and Sam worked his cock, gasping with the pain/pleasure of it.

"You're doing so well, Sam. Dean would be proud of you. Taking all this for him."

Sam increased his pace, punishing his cock, stripping it hard and fast.

"Do anything for him. Anything."

"I can tell, baby. Look how good you are for him." Her voice was lower now, more in keeping with the gender she was erroneously born with. "Are you going to come for him?"

Another tug of the cloth. Another spike of pain rushing through Sam, legs splayed open wide. For Dean. Balls waxed baby-smooth. For Dean. Fisting his cock. For Dean.

"Fuck. Yes. Yes." And as Sam's orgasm surged through him, witnessed by an open-mouthed Vicki, he chanted one word. The only word he ever said when he came. "Dean. Dean. Dean."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 5: Tuck and Cover**

Vicki handed Sam a box of tissues. He took it without looking at her, and wiped his chest clean from the evidence of his orgasm.

"We promised each other it wouldn't get weird."

Sam glanced up quickly, and Vicki cocked an eyebrow at him.

Sam's face creased into a huge grin. "You just quoted Austin Powers at me."

"I did." To Sam's intense relief, Vicki did not look upset or creeped out in the slightest. Her cheeks were flushed pink, but her eyes, a striking blue, met his without a second of hesitation.

"Get dressed." Sam slipped off the table and pulled his boxers on.

She paused, as if thinking hard about what she was going to say, and then spoke. "Thank you. For trusting me that much to let me share in such a private thing." She stopped for a moment, considering her words carefully. "Very few people on the planet are as beautiful as you are. You're breathtaking. And I say that as a clinical fact. My friends and I, we used to joke that there should be a federal mandate that people that beautiful could not be monogamous. By law."

Sam erupted in a deep, hearty laugh, fastening the button of his jeans, face coloring from the praise. Which he drank up like a thirsty plant under a sudden rainstorm in summer.

"But very few people are as in love as you are with this man of yours. He's lucky six ways from Sunday. And I get the feeling he's been with you for a long, long time. Yeah?" She scrutinized his face closely.

He simply nodded. No way could he tell her everything, although he felt such a strong pull to do exactly that. Confess the whole thing to another human being. No, he corrected himself, to her. Just to this one, singular human being.

"So, not many people have ever seen what you just showed me."

Sam blushed. "Yeah. That'd be a big no."

"That was..." Vicki's breezy confidence wavered. She shifted in place, busying herself at the side table, showing only her profile. "Ok, so that was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Sam's hands, gripping his t-shirt, paused in mid-air.

"Sam. Do you even have a fucking clue? About how… I mean, it's not just how you look. Although, holy fucking shitballs. But it's more than that. You're so… honest about your sexuality. Especially when you give yourself permission to let someone see you. And that was what was so beautiful."

Vicki turned to face him. "And that's the only reason I'm being crass enough to talk about our little moment there. I was worried you were going to turn in on yourself, shut it down, feel embarrassed or ashamed." Her mouth tightened. "Don't do that to yourself. There's enough bastards out there trying to make us feel that way about who we are. Who we love. They call us freaks."

Sam's hands clenched. That word had extra-sharp teeth to him.

"You know what I say to that? What I actually say to them?" Vicki tossed her head, flipping her platinum blonde hair over her shoulder. "'You say freak like it's a bad thing.' I mean, so what? Being a freak is good. It's normal. There's a whole beautiful continuum of sexuality and gender. We're just a little farther from center." She blinked her eyes quickly a few times. "So fuck 'em if they call us freak. We're taking it back. Just like fag and queer." Vicki was exceptionally good at hiding her true emotions. But Sam was exceptionally good at spotting what people felt but tried to hide.

Sam put his hand on her shoulder. She smiled almost gratefully. "I'm not stupid. There's a time and a place. But when the time is right and the place is safe? Let your freak flag fly."

Vicki brought Sam into her small apartment above the salon, and made a light lunch of chicken salad wraps and green tea.

"So. Hair. What do you want to be? Blonde? Redhead?"

Sam blinked a few times in rapid succession. "I have no idea."

"Eat up then, and we'll try some on you."

They ate quickly, and proceeded to the next stage. Wigs.

The pixie-cut white-blonde wig drew fits of laughter from both of them. "I look like a chicken." Sam pulled the offending hairpiece off.

The sexy-Latina brunette wig with red highlights was better. Sam settled the long, straight locks around his face, toying with the ends. "A lot better. Hmmm…" Vicki set that one aside.

Black was deemed too much for Sam's features. A soft honey-blonde pageboy looked beautiful, but wrong for the evening. "You want him to want to ravage you, not sell him life insurance."

So, Sophia Vergara it was.

On to the clothes. Vicki led him into the bedroom and flung open her closet doors. It was jammed with women's shoes and clothing of all kinds and a range of sizes—sequined/feathered theatrical outfits, sensible office clothing, body-conscious dresses for clubbing, everything a fashion-forward cross-dresser or transwoman could need.

Vicki was initially fixated on him wearing jeans and a short t-shirt, but Sam felt that was too close to what he normally wore. And besides, he'd shaved his damn legs.

So she tried him out with a few tight dresses. "Incredible. You look so good. It's not even fair." And Sam did, turning in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric over his hips, wobbling only slightly in the black heels they'd found that fit him perfectly. He had been practicing in secret for a while now, with the heels Dean had bought for him along with the pink satin panties and skirt.

But nothing was quite right.

There, in the corner of the closet, he saw it. Just the edge peeking out. A simple black leather miniskirt. The kind of soft, buttery leather a man couldn't stop himself from touching, whether it was on the seat of a car or stretched over a round, tight bottom.

"That. That's it."

And he was right. The black leather clung to his hips, framing his ass beautifully. He couldn't keep his own hands off his backside.

"To quote the immortal bard, fuck me with a chainsaw." Vicki chewed her lower lip and closed her eyes.

She rummaged around in a drawer until she found the perfect shirt: a woman's low-cut t-shirt, cut off at the midriff.

"Led Zeppelin. How the hell…"

"Someone left it here. Guess I've been saving it for you."

Vicki put a black bra on Sam, popping two inserts into it, settling them into place. "When you're ready to get dressed for real, we're gonna put a line of medical tape right here and give you some cleavage with your own skin, so it looks like the boobs are yours." She slipped the t-shirt over it, and arranged the red wig on his head.

"You still need makeup, but what do you think?"

Sam stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall. This was going to work. Holy hell. This was actually going to work.

"So there's one big thing we haven't talked about." Vicki's eyes darted to the front of the skirt. "You said you wanted to do this right. So I need to show you how to do something. It doesn't hurt. But it will feel weird at first. Before your balls drop, they're naturally tucked up inside your abdomen, and those little cavities are still there. So you can just pop them back inside and…"

"I've tucked before." Sam's face was painted with a curious mixture of embarrassment and pride.

Vicki just stared at Sam, mouth open slightly.

"You…you do?"

Sam turned around, dropped into a crouch, reached between his legs on the right side, then the left, then between his legs and stood up. He hiked up his skirt, a sly smile playing across his lips. The front of his panties was completely flat and smooth. Like a woman.

"Holy shit. Where did you learn to do that?"

Sam pursed his lips like he was the cleverest boy in the world. "Internet."

Sam had been shaved, waxed, rubbed with soothing lotion, powdered and fed. He'd showered and cleaned himself thoroughly (using his special kit he brought with him to make sure he was completely ready for Dean), rubbed himself with soothing lotion again, tucked and taped himself with Vicki's medical tape, donned the silk and lace bra and panty set he'd picked out himself, nestled the breast inserts inside, let Vicki run a line of tape across his chest to create surprisingly realistic-looking cleavage.

Vicki set down the makeup brush, and pivoted the chair to face the mirror. "What do you think?"

Sam couldn't speak.

He didn't recognize himself in the image in front of him. What was in front of him was a strikingly beautiful woman. Not a man in lipstick. A woman with full lips, beautiful brown eyes and luxurious brunette hair, with breasts and holy shit that was him.

"Stand up." Vicki guided him to his feet and walked him to the full-length mirror.

The illusion was astonishing.

"I told you. Didn't I tell you? You look beautiful in drag. Like a model."

And he did. Sure, he was tall, and yes, well muscled, but he hadn't been gym-rat ripped like when he had no soul for a long time now, and the muscles seemed softer now, not at all out of place on a woman. He looked like a female athlete who'd gone into modeling.

Suddenly, he shivered and rocked unsteadily on his heels. \

Vicki settled him down on the couch and brought him a shot of bourbon. "To steady your nerves."

Sam tossed it back neat, with a stiff wrist, a long-practiced movement.

"Scared?"

"Yeah."

Vicki sat down next to him. "Why? What exactly are you afraid of?"

"That he'll freak out."

"May I remind you that Dean bought you a pair of high heels, a skirt and blouse and a pair of shiny satiny pink panties? Bought them for you? Asked you to wear them?"

Sam smiled. "You're right."

"And what was his reaction again when you did wear them? Wait. It's ok. You don't have to tell me again. I remember."

And so did Sam. Vicki was right. There was no reason to be afraid Dean would flip out on him. Sam knew in his bones how much Dean was going to love it.

"So, what else?"

This was the real fear. "That someone's going to see me like this. Or see me with him. And kick my ass."

She nodded. "I'll be honest. That fear's real. I know."

Sam cocked his head. Waiting.

"I got jumped last year. Stupid of me. I left the club alone. Two guys dragged me into an alley and beat the snot out of me."

Sam felt a familiar, protective surge well up in him.

"But one, you're like 6'4" and I can tell you know your way around a bar fight. Two, we're taking a cab to the bar, so you won't be alone going in. Three, it's a bar for trans people and allies, so it's as safe as it gets. And four, you'll be leaving with Dean. And that man would rather die than let anyone hurt you."

She didn't know how true that was.

But still, he was afraid.

"And if you're afraid of someone on the street saying something mean? Trying to make you feel bad? Anyone who tries to tell you that you're wrong for being who you are? For loving the man you love? They're full of shit. They're wrong."

These words, carrying greater force for Sam than Vicki could possibly know, forced a few sharp tears from Sam's eyes.

"Come here, you big baby. You're going to spoil your makeup." Vicki fussed and preened over him until he had composed himself.

There was a honk from out front. "Cab's here. Time to go." Vicki checked her watch. "We'll have enough time to get a drink or two and get you comfortable before he gets there."

Sam sucked in a deep breath as he crossed the threshold and stepped out into the indigo light of early evening. The sky did not fall. Nobody screamed, "Freak!" at him in horror. In fact, he received an appreciative look from a passing bike courier, and the cab driver held the door open for him, ready to take him to where he would meet Dean.


	3. Chapter 3

Now You're Messing With A…

Dean checked the address again. It was the one Sam had texted him, alright. "Meet me here at 7 pm."

He'd been there for ten minutes. No sign of Sam.

The bar was not too crowded. A few attractive women at the pool table, some people at the bar, and a small crowd gathered near two girls dancing to music on the jukebox.

Based on what Dean could see of the ass on one of the women, he could understand the crowd surrounding them. He hadn't seen an ass that nice in… he didn't even know. Poured into that black leather miniskirt, with long, toned, smooth legs… He whistled quietly to himself in appreciation, then settled onto a barstool. "Shot of Old Granddad." The bartender slid the shot glass to Dean. "Hey, have you seen a really tall guy come in here?" The bartender shook his head no.

Dean sipped his whiskey and waited. The girl with the nice ass was apparently very popular. Several guys sidled up to her and tried their best icebreaker. The platinum blonde with her shooed them off quickly. The girl, crazy tall with legs for days, laughed and tossed her hair—and her eyes met Dean's.

She froze, lips parting slightly, then turned around quickly. Her blonde friend looked over at Dean and her eyes went wide, and she started giggling.

"I still got it, "Dean thought with a precious little smirk.

The girl poured into the black leather miniskirt walked to the jukebox, which had fallen silent, and inserted a bill.

A few buttons pressed, and then the song began to play.

A familiar guitar riff spilled from the speakers, and Dean grinned. He knew why Sam had picked this place to meet up. Good whiskey, and classic rock on the jukebox. He could almost forgive him for making him wait.

The girl flipped her hair in her face like she was shy, and they started bar dancing with her friend again—that kind of dancing that's anchored in the hips and pelvis, that whiskey-soaked slow grind where the women revel in what it feels like to have a body like that, and the men dream of what it's like to touch it.

_Heartbreaker, soul shaker… I've been told about you…_

The girl turned towards Dean, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. Christ, she was gorgeous. Fucking tall, though. Huge brown eyes, perfect mouth gleaming red, a tight little hardbody, and Christ, was she wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt?

Suddenly Dean felt like watching her was wrong. Shouldn't be doing that. But he couldn't take his eyes off her.

Neither could the other men in the bar. One tried to slide up on her and grind, but Pretty Girl's best friend shoved him away and hissed something at him angrily enough that he backed up a few feet, looking confused, and stalked away.

The pretty girl watched Dean watching her, and such a strange, complex series of expressions flitted across her face. It ended with a smile and a sex-drenched look in her eyes that stopped Dean's breath.

…_red hot mama, velvet charmer, time's come to pay your dues…_

She faced him directly now, hands sliding along her hips, spine so limber, hips swaying to the music, then spun on her heels, raising her arms up overhead and letting her hair fall back, brushing the top of that wicked leather skirt, tickling the bare skin at the small of her back, then smoothing her hands down the curve of her ass.

…_now you're messing with a (son of a bitch)…now you're messing with a son of a bitch…_

Dean tossed back the rest of his whiskey. "Sam, goddamn it, where the fuck are you?" he muttered. And signaled for a second shot.

The pretty girl turned halfway back around, in profile now, arching and curling in a series of subtle but effective body rolls that drew Dean's eyes, unwillingly, to her perfect, tanned stomach. She gathered up her hair in both hands at the back of her neck and, made bolder by Dean's unmistakable notice of her, blinked at him in a way that wordlessly signaled a clear invitation.

Dean growled, "Goddamn it, Sam, where are you?" but could not for the life of him tear his eyes away from her.

And then, with superhuman effort, he did so.

He didn't see the expression on the girl's face, but if you'd asked him to guess, he would have said it was disappointment.

It wasn't.

It was pride, tinged with a little relief.

"One more?" She squeezed in next to Dean at the bar, turned away from him slightly, and signaled to the bartender.

Fuck.

"Sorry, sweetheart. You're gorgeous, but I'm not on the market."

She just stood there, standing right next to him. When she picked up her shot, Dean could have sworn her hand was shaking. She swallowed half the drink, and turned to face him. "No? I don't see anyone with you."

Dean scowled. "He's late."

She giggled.

"What? Yeah, I said he. So what?"

"That's not why I'm laughing." Her voice was as gorgeous as the rest of her, husky and tinged with a faint Southern accent.

"No? Alright. Why are you laughing?"

The girl leaned in slowly, breasts pressing against Dean's upper arm, hair swinging down against his chest. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Dean swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Brushing her lips over his neck, she whispered, "He's not late."

"What?" Dean sat up. "You... wait, you know him?" Suddenly, the pretty girl's height and voice made sense now. The case they were on. The murder of those transwomen. Dean couldn't believe it had taken him this long to get it. Sam must have sent her over to flirt with Dean, as some kind of prank.

"You're helping him. I get it. So, where is he?" Dean scanned the room-and his eye was caught by something he did not expect. There, on the woman's chest, underneath a layer of perfectly applied makeup, was the faintest trace of a sun flare surrounding a pentacle.

If Sam's hand wasn't already on his shoulder, Dean would have fallen off the stool.

He couldn't speak.

Sam smiled.

Dean stared, trying to remember how to operate his lungs.

"Are you ok?"

Dean was beyond words. Just stared at Sam. The long, reddish-brown hair. The lush eyelashes and smoky eyeliner highlighting his eyes, bringing out the green in them. The gleaming red lips. The long, long, smooth legs. Christ, the breasts. They looked so real.

Dean raised his hand to Sam's face, traced his baby-soft skin, moved trembling down his throat to the perfectly smooth skin of his chest.

Sam made a soft, helpless sound.

Then he offered Dean the rest of his shot of whiskey.

Dean drank it. He was still unable to speak.

Sam took Dean's hand. "C'mere. Dance with me."

Dean was so stunned, Sam lead him easily to the small dance floor. His blonde friend punched a few buttons on the jukebox. She watched them carefully, oh so carefully, poised for…something. Anything.

The sound of organ and drums filled the bar. Sam slipped his arms around Dean and pulled him close. Dean slid his hands over Sam's waist, fingers on his bare flesh. "If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you…"

Sam swayed with Dean, pressing his face against Dean's hair. Dean took a deep, shuddering breath, fingers tightening convulsively. The body in his arms, pressed up against him, was gloriously, perfectly female. He could feel it. He could feel what was there, clear as day. He could feel what wasn't there. He trembled."Sam?"

"Yeah," Sam murmured. "It's me."

Dean ran his hands down Sam's hips, fingertips caressing the butter-soft leather, looked up into his face, his green eyes wide. "Sammy."

"Are you ok? Dean. Is this…is this ok?" Sam tensed up.

Dean immediately shut that down. "Shh… it's ok. It's… Christ. Sam?"

Dean looked so perplexed, Sam couldn't help but laugh.

"But… how… I mean…" Dean stared down at Sam. "I mean, fucking hell, Sam, how…"

"S'alright. I'll tell you all about it later. But Dean." Sam's voice was so quiet. "Do...do you like it?"

Dean stopped moving, and raised his hand to Sam's face, rubbing his thumb across Sam's jawline in that familiar way that never failed to comfort him. And then tough, taciturn Dean Winchester whispered, "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Sam couldn't help it. He started to cry. And right there, in front of God and everyone, Dean gently brought his brother's exquisitely made-up face to his and kissed him, slow and sweet.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean couldn't keep his eyes—or his hands—off Sam.

Vicki couldn't keep her eyes off them.

Dean kept touching Sam, brushing his hands over Sam's hips. They breathed things to each other that Vicki couldn't hear. Dean's face was lit up like a child on Christmas morning. He murmured something that made Sam's face soften in wonder, tears spilling down his cheeks. Dean gently brought Sam's mouth to his and kissed him, achingly soft.

Vicki took a few steps back, moving into shadow. Just once, God. Please. Just once. Let someone look at me like that. Kiss me like that. She withdrew farther into the corner of the bar, praying no one would see her weep.

A crowd of new arrivals had livened up the bar, working the stripper pole on the stage, drinking and yelling, "Woo!" and all the other things that pack behavior and alcohol can unleash.

Dean couldn't stop touching Sam, lightly tracing his fingertips over his arms, the backs of his hands, back up to his neck, painting circles in the hollow of his throat. He brushed his fingers up Sam's silky-smooth thigh and buried his head in Sam's shoulder to muffle a groan. "Oh god."

Sam grinned.

And then it happened.

The blonde girl that Sam had been dancing with took Sam's hand. "Come on, sweetie. Here we go." She tugged him toward the stage, shooing the other girls away. Seeing Sam, all 6'7" of him in the stiletto heels, they made way for him, eyes wide with anticipation. Sam hid behind his long wig, blushing, but allowed himself to be pulled and positioned. He appeared to plead with the blonde for mercy, but she prodded him and whispered something in his ear, staring at Dean the whole time. Sam swallowed, blinked his false eyelashes, and took a deep breath.

The jukebox blared.

_Step inside, walk this way, you and me babe… hey hey!_

Dean gritted his teeth and muttered, "Oh. Fuck ME."

The familiar drum pattern kicked in, followed by the inimitable guitar riff. Sam faced away from the gathering crowd, marking the rhythm with subtle flicks of his hips. Pivoting to press his back against the pole, he flipped his hair, and looked out at everyone, a little shy.

"Woo!" hollered a dramatic-looking drag queen nearly as tall as Sam.

Sam bent his knees and slid halfway down the pole, running his hands up his thighs. The movement flexed the muscles in his long, bare legs, the heels heightening the emphasis. The effect was stunning.

A few people in the crowd gasped. Sam smiled at that, drawing confidence from it.

_Lookin' like a tramp, like a video vamp, demolition woman, can I be your man?_

Sam spun around the pole, holding on with one hand, undulating in a full-body roll, daring to steal a glance at Dean.

Dean's mouth literally hung open.

Sam turned so he was in profile, hands on the pole, dropped to a crouch, then immediately popped back up, his straight legs spread as far apart as the leather miniskirt would allow, bending forward at the waist, showing off his perfect ass kissed by the tight black leather.

_Little miss ah innocent sugar me, yeah_

"Jesus Christ, the legs on her…" groaned someone standing behind Dean. "What I wouldn't give to have them wrapped around my face."

Dean turned his head and growled. He actually growled.

"Ooh, sorry." The offending speaker backed away, palms up in surrender, faced with the very fucking clear and present danger of a jealous Dean Winchester. "That's your girl?"

Dean glanced back at Sam, face softening again.

_Pour some sugar on me, in the name of love_

"Yeah. That's my girl."

The guy shook his head in wonder. "You are the luckiest bastard walking the earth."

Dean couldn't take his eyes off his Sam. "Yeah. No kidding."

Sam had some moves on him. No idea where or how he'd picked them up, but he moved with a grace and strength that mesmerized Dean. His body, so powerful and masculine, now moved with such fluidity and eloquence, Dean was speechless. And now he was flirting with the crowd, feeding off their response, a sly smile on his gleaming red lips, leaning against the pole and stroking his bare stomach in the way Dean had seen him do a hundred times, pulling up his t-shirt and rubbing his belly with his lower lip sticking out, knowing what it did to Dean—to anyone—to see that.

But Sam made it perfectly clear to everyone who he was performing for. Dean still quivered with jealousy when he flicked his eyes to someone else, giving them a smile or a sultry look, but when he looked at Dean, the heat roared off him. Nothing else existed in that moment for Sam. The focus, the passion, the love was palpable.

He kept his eyes locked onto Dean, dropping to his knees, crawling forward on his hands, arching his back, jutting his ass into the air, perfectly outlined in black leather, then lifting his head and peering up at Dean through a veil of reddish-brown hair.

Dean didn't know that something could literally take your breath away until he felt light-headed and realized he hadn't inhaled in what felt like minutes. He sucked in a deep, shaky breath.

Sam rolled onto his back, knees bent, stretched his hands above his head, arched his back, those long, tanned legs parted just slightly, let his head fall to the side and looked at Dean, biting his lower lip.

_I'm hot, sticky sweet, from my head to my feet, yeah…_

A quiet voice in his ear. "Magnificent, isn't she?"

Dean couldn't turn his head. Couldn't miss a second of Sam on the stage, running his hands up his smooth thighs, rolling over again, rising to his feet, holding on to the pole in a cocky stance, like he was starting to believe how fucking beautiful he was as a woman, swinging his hips to the side, watching Dean, lips pursed, making so many wordless promises it made Dean dizzy.

He couldn't turn his head. But he knew it was the blonde girl. "Nobody like my Sammy."

The song had barely finished when Dean held out his hand to Sam and helped him off the low stage.

Sam was breathing fast, his cheeks flushed. "So, what did—"

Dean crushed Sam to him in a hard kiss, claiming him in front of everybody. Sam melted into the embrace.

The crowd erupted in applause.

Dean dragged Sam toward the door.

"Wait. Dean. Vicki…I gotta."

Dean spun around, his motion bordering on the violent. "Sam, we gotta get out of here, or I'm gonna fuck you right here."

Sam's mouth parted slightly, spurred by disbelief or desire. Or both.

Dean grabbed his hand. "Don't tempt me." He pulled Sam toward him, murmuring in a desperate whisper, "You wanna get arrested? I will fuck you. Right now. Swear to God." His lips brushed against Sam's neck, whispering, "That what you want, sweetheart? Get me so worked up, I'll fuck you in public?" He glanced up, scrutinizing Sam's face. "I'll do it. You know it."

Sam did. The thought, absolutely not part of his plan, was so shocking and primal, he couldn't speak.

"But I wanna get you alone." Dean nuzzled Sam's neck. "Pretty girl."

Sam shivered all over. "Let's go."

Dean took Sam's hand and practically pulled him out of the club. Sam twisted to look for Vicki. She stood near the jukebox, a brilliant smile on her face. She waved him on, teeth flashing in a huge grin, and mouthed, "Go get him."

In the low light of the bar, Sam couldn't see her eyes suddenly glisten.

Dean flagged down a cab, in ready supply on the busy San Francisco street. Sam leaned in to open the door, but Dean stopped him.

"Uh-uh." He stepped forward and opened the door. "My baby doesn't open her own doors."

Sam sat in the back seat and pivoted in place, bringing both legs into the cab at the same time. Like a woman in a short skirt would do. Dean stared at the graceful motion, at Sam's impossibly long, bare legs and gleaming black stilettos, up to his bare stomach under the half-top and the breasts pushing through the t-shirt. When he raised his gaze to meet Sam's, the barely-restrained heat behind it sent a visible shiver through Sam. He felt like a gazelle face to face with a half-starved lion.

Without conscious volition, Sam lifted his head, baring his throat for Dean.

Dean crossed around the back of the cab and slid in alongside Sam. He gave the driver the address. And he held up two folded twenty-dollar bills. "And that's extra. For keeping your eyes on the road. Not us."

The cab driver took the money. "I am known for my discretion."

The driver pulled out into traffic, studiously avoiding looking in his rear-view at the couple in the back seat.

Dean rubbed his thumb over Sam's lower lip, then leaned forward and trapped it between his teeth, worrying it lightly. Sam gasped.

"Got me so worked up." Dean pressed the palm of Sam's hand to the front of his jeans. His cock was so painfully hard and swollen, Sam winced in sympathy. "You gotta take the edge off."

Sam unzipped Dean's jeans and took his cock into his mouth, red lipstick staining his skin as he slid up and down, staring up into Dean's eyes. "Unbelievable," Dean breathed, brushing the long locks of hair away from Sam's face, watching that wicked red mouth rise and fall.

Dean really had been skating right on the edge. Within seconds, Dean threw his head back and bit back on the sounds his orgasm tried to force him to make. He came, sweet-bitter and salty, in a flood, and Sam swallowed, and swallowed again.

"Fucking perfect," Dean whispered, caressing Sam's smooth cheek. "You're fucking perfect."


	5. Chapter 5

The cab driver, Sayid, pulled up to the motel. The short-haired man with green eyes got out, walked around the car and opened the door for his girlfriend. Arm curved around her waist, he walked her up the driveway, mouth nuzzling her neck.

Sayid shifted into drive, the transmission making an expensive-sounding clunk. "Now that," he said to the plastic statue of Ganesh on his dashboard, "was a very tall woman."

Inside the motel room, Dean stripped off his jacket and draped it over a chair. Every move seemed relaxed and casual, but his body vibrated with a slight, all-over tremble.

He turned to find Sam right up against him. He curled his fingers over the top edges of Sam's hipbones and pulled him close, kissing his mouth softly. "Quite a show you put on back there, Sammy."

Sam, still high from the events at the club, from Dean's reaction, from the shots of bourbon, from everything, flashed Dean a sly smile. "Not quite done yet."

Dean breathed out, shuddery and soft, hard muscles pressed against Sam. "Don't know if I can take any more," he murmured into the hollow of Sam's throat. "Need you."

Sam slipped his fingers under the hem of Dean's t-shirt, lightly drew his nails down the twin cords of muscle on either side of his spine, pressed himself against Dean. Dean's eyes went wide at the flat, smooth feel of Sam's pelvis against his. Flat and smooth like a girl.

Sam smiled, wicked and knowing, and circled his hips into Dean again, pressing against Dean's rapidly regenerating erection."Wanna show you. Don't you want to see?"

Dean swallowed hard, unable to even speak. All he could do was nod.

Sam took Dean's hand and sat him down in the padded recliner. He opened his duffel and pulled out a bag of short fat candles, arranging them on top of the dresser, TV stand, and the sink countertop and lighting them. He turned off the stark overhead lights. The room's interior danced with flickering candlelight, still well lit so Dean could see everything, but softer, more alive.

Sam set his iPod into its speaker stand, and cued up a playlist called "For Dean."

He glanced at his brother. Dean looked Sam up and down, appraisingly, approvingly. Then he leaned back in the recliner, spreading his legs even wider.

"Show me."

Sam pressed play.

A woman's cry of ecstasy. And another. A drum fill, and a hypnotic keyboard bass line. The cry of pleasure again, and again.

_I would die for you_

_I would die for you_

_I've been dying just to feel you by my side_

_to know that you're mine…_

Dean bit his lower lip, as Sam, unfettered by shyness or fear, showed him.

Sam peeled off the t-shirt slowly, dragging it over his head, flipping his hair out, dropping the shirt behind him, running his hands over his bare stomach, across the red and black bra, feeling the weight of the fake breasts, caressing them like they were real. In the moment, they felt almost real.

The music moved through his body, coaxed serpentine motions out of him, swaying his hips, undulating his spine, filling his limbs with the kind of sensual fluidity Dean had only ever seen on the very best female strippers. And none of it was forced, cheesy, like the desperate displays of professional dancers.

_I will cry for you_

_I will cry for you_

_I will wash away your pain with all my tears_

_and drown your fear_

Sam's motions were all rooted in one thing: an aching, profound pleasure to move for Dean, to be seen by Dean, to show him in the movements of his body how Dean made him feel. Saying a thousand things in ways he could never say in words, with a slow twist of his hips, a roll of his shoulder, a deep breath filling his lungs and released with a sigh.

He turned his back to Dean, unzipped the black leather miniskirt, and slipped it down slowly, so slowly, inching it down his hips, revealing the black and red panties underneath. He looked over his shoulder at Dean. He was unwittingly biting the tip of his tongue, like a cat that's forgotten to pull it back in after grooming.

Sam turned to face Dean, and let the skirt fall to the floor.

Dean gasped.

Sam was hung like a moose. But what Dean saw before him was a stunning, muscular woman in bra and panties. No trace of male genitalia.

"Fuck." Dean stared up at Sam in shock. "Sam. I gotta ask. Where's your cock?"

Sam laughed. Leaning over Dean, he whispered, "Don't worry. All still there."

Dean shook his head in awe and disbelief.

"Ready for your lap dance?"

Dean's head fell back. "Gonna kill me."

Sam drew one bare, smooth leg up between Dean's legs, brushing it against his inner thigh, over his fully erect cock. Dean ran his hand up it, and made a choked, guttural sound.

Sam drew back, teasing him. He leaned forward, hands on Dean's shoulders, hips curling and swaying in time to the music, long dark hair spilling into Dean's face, his breasts at eye level, his own flesh mounded into realistic cleavage by the clever application of tape beneath the bra.

Dean's hands trembled over Sam, fingertips taking note of every inch of smooth, hairless skin.

Sam moved backward a few feet, bent over with his hands propped on the bed, ass exposed for Dean's gaze, looking back over his shoulder, hair falling across his face like a veil. A slow turn, and he dropped to his knees, spreading his legs, undulating, running his hand down his stomach, smoothing over the flat front of his panties.

Dean watched, mesmerized, breath coming fast like he'd just finished a run.

Beneath the panties, Sam's testicles were still snugged up inside his abdomen, and his cock was tucked back and tightly secured with medical tape. It didn't actually hurt, but it was impossible for him to get hard. This had the effect of kicking the sensitivity of the rest of his body into high gear. He couldn't localize his desire in one demanding, obvious place. Being unable to have an erection made his entire body into an erogenous zone. Simply running his own hand down his stomach sent sparks flying. Grinding, writhing, curling his hips in a slow serpentine, all felt nearly as good as Dean's sleek, wet mouth on his cock. As did Dean's hungry gaze, all over him like warm rain.

_I will lie for you_

_Beg and steal for you_

_I will crawl on hands and knees until you see_

_You're just like me_

He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled to Dean.

The muscles in Dean's jaw twitched.

Sam moved between Dean's thighs, stroking the hard muscles under his jeans, pressing his breasts against Dean's crotch.

Dean reached out to stroke Sam's cheek. "Beautiful girl."

Sam stood, undulating slowly, stomach rippling with the grace of a belly dancer, then turned, sat down carefully, settling into Dean's lap. He dropped his head back, long hair tumbling over Dean's shoulders and chest, throat bared. Dean immediately seized the opportunity to kiss and nip at his neck, sending shivers through Sam.

Sam arched his back, grinding his ass against Dean's hardness, spreading his legs, drawing his hands up overhead to run his fingers through Dean's hair. If anyone had walked in, they would have seen a gorgeous half-naked woman, breasts thrust into the air, firm thighs parted, utterly submitting to the pleasure of giving herself to the man beneath her.

Dean caressed Sam's inner thighs, traced his fingers along the smooth front of his panties, slowly up his stomach, making it flutter and tremble, making Sam moan and arch his back even harder, grinding against Dean, satin panties sliding easily over his jeans.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's stomach, held him down, bucked his hips against Sam's ass, rubbing his cock between Sam's cheeks."So fucking hot, baby girl."

Sam shuddered violently. He spun in Dean's lap, dropped to his knees, and flung himself into his arms, devouring his mouth.

Dean laughed, mouth locked on Sam's, and gave back as good as he got. Grabbing his face with both hands, he held Sam's face still and kissed him like it was the only thing between him and the fires of hell. Pulling back, he whispered, "You like that? Me calling you baby girl?"

Sam panted, shameless and needing. "Holy fuck, yeah."

With all the strength born of years of training, Dean picked up his 6'4" little brother and carried him to the bed. Settling him into the mattress, Dean straddled Sam and leaned down. "Hope you weren't planning on getting any sleep. Because I'm gonna fuck you all night, baby girl." Sam moaned, arching up into Dean. "'Fuck you 'till the sun comes up."

Dean drew back, all the way to the foot of the bed. He brushed his lips against the inside of Sam's right ankle, darting his tongue out to sweep across his skin, moving up his calf, sending a shiver cascading up his body.

Dean took his time, kissing and licking, exhaling warm air, brushing his soft lips against Sam's skin. By the time he worked his way up to his inner thigh, Sam was moaning, sheened with sweat. When Dean dropped back down to the other ankle, Sam made wordless sounds of incoherent pleasure. When he got all the way up to his inner thigh again and skipped up to brush his lips over the smooth, flat front of Sam's panties, Sam sobbed.

"So beautiful," Dean said in a broken whisper.

"Dean. Oh god."

Dean slipped up between Sam's legs, rocked against him, kissing him deep and hard…then flipped Sam over, pulling him up onto his knees, positioning his ass in the air. He licked and nipped his way up the back of Sam's legs, lingering at the backs of his knees, making Sam squirm and utter sharp little cries into the pillow.

Smoothing his hands over his ass, he trailed his tongue along the edges of Sam's panties, teasing him. "Wanna taste you."

Sam shivered again, and reached between his legs. A soft sound of tape being pulled free, a few moments of tugging and arranging, and Sam flung a handful of white material to the floor with a groan.

It did not take long for his cock, finally freed, to swell and harden. Dean rubbed his fingertips through the panties over the long shaft, curled his fingers over Sam's balls, hefting them in his hand. "There we go."

Dean took hold of Sam's leg, turned him over onto his back. "Spread your legs for me."

Sam moaned, stretching his arms over his head, and parted his thighs.

"Good girl." Dean pulled the panties to the side…and his breath caught in his throat. "Fuck. Sammy."

Sam smiled up at Dean, eyes gleaming. All the discomfort in the waxing salon was worth it to see the astonished expression on Dean's face.

Dean settled in between Sam's thighs, and licked a wet stripe along Sam's baby-smooth balls. "Christ." He ripped the panties off and pressed his hands on his thighs, shoving them back until Sam's knees were almost on his shoulders. "Fucking hell."

He drew one smooth sphere into his mouth and moaned, his back curling, punching his fist into the mattress. Sam's hips stuttered, pleasure stabbing through him.

Dean inhaled the other into his mouth, rolling them over his tongue like candy, sucking and pulling, licking and drawing them across his lips.

Sam had never heard him make exactly those sounds before, sharp and keen like whimpers. He pulled off, licked around the smooth, hairless base of Sam's cock, and then slipped his tongue lower. When he felt the perfect smoothness of the flesh around Sam's tight, pink hole, he made a sound that could only be described as a sob.

"Sammy. Jesus. Sammy." He devoured Sam, lashing him with his tongue, sealing his lips around the little ring and sucking, driving his tongue inside him, twisting and licking, biting gently, lapping at him. Sam grabbed handfuls of motel comforter, half-sat up involuntarily then fell back against the mattress, desperate sounds punched out of him.

Dean pulled back, panting, and bit Sam's inner thigh. "Fuck. Love tasting your pussy. Eating you out."

Sam locked his hands around the backs of his thighs and pulled himself open. "Please. Dean. More."

Dean gave him what he wanted. He pulled Sam's ass cheeks apart and licked him, making sounds like he was the one going half-mad with pleasure, slowing down, licking broad, flat stripes, then trying to fuck his tongue as far up inside Sam's ass at it could possibly go until Sam's thighs were shaking…then slowing down again, lapping at him leisurely. "So good," he moaned, not even knowing he was saying it out loud. "So fuckin' good."

Dean grabbed Sam's hips, pulled them up so Sam was propped up on shoulders, ass high in the air, knees on the mattress. He stretched Sam's cheeks open even wider with both hands, and then he really went to town.

Sam knew what Dean liked to hear when they indulged in these genderplay games. But now it was a thousand times better. Dean looked down at Sam, totally helpless, ass served up to him, the curve of his breasts in the bra, his long hair spilling over the mattress, red lipstick smeared across his mouth, dark eyelashes fluttering with the extremity of his pleasure, so keen it bordered on pain, so overwhelming it made words spill out of Sam's mouth.

"Lick my pussy. So fucking good. Your tongue feels so good. Dean… oh god, Dean… deeper… Jesus fucking Christ, Dean…yeah… love your tongue in my ass…"

Dean's eyes had gone sea-green. "Could do this all night. Eat you out for fucking hours. That what you want?"

Sam whimpered.

"No? Wanna come for me, baby girl?"

Sam nearly came right there and then.

"Please. Oh god, please."

Dean swirled his tongue over the head of Sam's cock, once, then exhaled a puff of breath over it. A drop of pre-cum oozed from the slit, and another, and another.

"Fucking do it, Dean. Make me come. Need to come for you so bad. Let me come. Fuck. Please let me come."

Dean pulled back, stood at the foot of the bed. He kicked off his boots, stripped his sock off. He stared at Sam, disheveled and wanton, spread out on the bed, cock straining.

He peeled his t-shirt off slowly.

Sam made a choked sound.

Dean unbuttoned his jeans. Slowly. Inched them down. Stuck his hand inside and pulled his cock out, pumping his fist over it. Slowly.

Sam tore his bra off, ripped the tape free, pinched his nipples hard, hard enough to make him cry out, spread his thighs wide, letting Dean see how desperate and needy he was. One trembling hand reached for the lube on the side table. He coated his fingers, and thrust two inside him in one smooth movement.

"Goddamn," Dean murmured. "Hottest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life."

Sam fucked himself down on his fingers, wagging his hips up and down, working in a third not because he needed to in order to take Dean's cock, but just because he loved how it felt. Loved how Dean's eyes darkened when he did it, fucking his fingers up inside him so hard, pinching his left nipple with the other hand. "Dean. Fuck me. Please fuck me. Please fuck me. PLEASE fuck me…"

Dean tore his jeans off, fell on Sam like a man possessed, yanked Sam's hand free, and thrust his tongue deep inside Sam's mouth at exactly the same time and speed as he slid his cock inside Sam's ass with a rough groan.

Sam nearly vibrated off the bed, shuddering, writhing, coming apart for Dean, moaning into his mouth, clutching his shoulders, showing him with every part of his body how much he loved it. Needed it. Needed him.

Dean fucked Sam's ass with his cock and his mouth with his tongue in unison, filling him at both ends in the only way he could. He circled his hips and his tongue in unison, pulled out, drove back in, in perfect tandem.

And Sam took it. He took it so beautifully, so perfectly, with total abandon and not a shred of inhibition to be found, mouth open to Dean, legs spread for Dean. All for Dean.

Sam's orgasm drew close, rooted not in his cock but starting deep inside him, spiraling out through his entire body. When Dean felt Sam's body spasm so violently it tried to jackknife beneath him, ass clenching on his cock so hard it hurt, he couldn't hold back any longer. "Come on, baby girl. Come for me."

And Sam did. He came like a dying man striving for one last glorious moment of life. He couldn't even utter Dean's name, but he thought it, felt it, screamed it without words.

And Dean was right there with him, pleasure shaking him apart. Time stretched out, stopped. All he saw was white. All he felt was Sam.

The long moment that followed wasn't sleep. It was something entirely different. Not quite in this world. Just breathing together, as joined as any two human beings can possibly be joined on this earth.

Not Sam here, and Dean there. One soul, split into two bodies, so it could know itself, see itself, give and receive pleasure and joy and love.

In other words, it was one massive, epic chick-flick moment.

Dean stirred first, pulled himself off Sam, rolled onto his side, pulling Sam with him.

"Can't believe you did all this. For me." He traced his fingertips over Sam's smooth skin, unable to keep his hands off him. "Can't even believe it."

Sam beamed.

Dean ran his hands all over Sam's body. "Did you shave all over?"

"Just my legs. All the rest was waxed."

Dean slid down, brushing his half-open mouth over Sam's hairless chest. Moving lower. "Even your junk? Not shaved—waxed?"

"Yep."

Dean stared up at Sam. "Christ, Sam. You really do love me."

Sam thought of many things to say. Instead, he blinked, letting the weight of all of it be carried through his eyes.

Dean heard every word.

"Can't wait to get you in the shower, soap you up. Gonna be so slick…"

Sam made a little sound.

"I meant it, Sam."

"What?"

Dean moved lower, pressed little kisses into Sam's stomach. "Till the sun comes up, baby girl."

Sam spread his thighs, already rousing for round two. "Dean. Please."


End file.
